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“Cross with you?” I interrupt, wrenching my arm away, my face contorting in disgust at the implication that what he did to me only warrants me feeling temporarily ‘cross’. “You drugged me, tied me up and you were going to rape me! You’re an attempted rapist!” I say through clenched teeth.
He narrows his eyes, his face hardening. “At least I’m not a convicted murderer, like him.”
“What are you talking about?” I say, confused at the tangent but taking the bait anyway. “Like who?”
He moves his face close to mine and before I’m able to jerk away he hisses, “Luciano.”
I reel back, shaking my head fiercely. “You’re a liar!” I cry. “You’re the lowest of the low. You’ll say anything to discredit him, just because I want him and not you.”
“Ask him. Ask him about Anthony ‘Rooster’ Ricci. Ask him about his stint in Secondigliano prison. Perhaps you don’t know your new boyfriend as well as you think.” He spits out the word ‘boyfriend’ like it’s a bad taste in his mouth. “And perhaps while you’re doing that, I’ll tell your father exactly what kind of man you’re bringing into his house.”
I jab my finger at this stranger’s chest. He looks like the Raphael I once knew, but something evil has taken him over. “Perhaps my father needs to know what kind of man you really are,” I retort.
He raises his eyebrows and gestures behind him. “Judging by how well things have just gone in there, I think I know who he’ll believe.”
I project as much hate as I can into my stare, then I turn on my heel and leave.
As I climb shakily into the car, I look back at Raphael, smirking smugly in my father’s doorway. Then I look at the man I love and wonder whether Raphael’s revelation is true. And if it is, why hasn’t he told me? Why is he still keeping secrets from me? And regardless of how I feel about him, do I really want my precious son to be raised by a convicted murderer.
Fifteen
MICHAEL
I glance over at Cecelia as I’m driving. The meeting with Mr. DeMarco did not go well and she has been quiet and deep in thought ever since we left his house. No doubt even more traumatized after seeing that bastard Lombardi for the first time since that night in the hotel, too. It’s been a tough afternoon on many counts.
I reach over and place my hand on her thigh, but she flinches. I move it back to the steering wheel, instantly hurt and confused. Has she already decided that gaining her father’s blessing is a lost cause?
“Cece, I’m not giving up,” I say, putting my own feelings aside, wanting only to reassure her. “We will give your father some more time then try again. In the meantime, he will see for himself how happy we are, how devoted I am to you and Micah. I know it seems hopeless right now, but it was a shock for him today. And a shock for us seeing Lombardi. Perhaps we should have gone about it differently, organized it more formally somewhere neutral. We’ll think of a better way to do it next time.”
She just nods mutely and continues staring morosely out of the window, her petite body angled away from me.
As we head towards Micah’s school, I see Connie and our son sitting on a bench a few streets away. They’re both eating ice creams and smiling happily at each other. I pull the car up to the curb.
Connie notices it’s us, takes Micah’s hand, and steps towards the car as Cece opens the window and greets them, waving and blowing kisses at Micah. It’s the most animated she’s been for the whole journey.
“Hello, my favorite couple,” Connie says cheerfully. “I thought I’d give you a bit longer with Papa, so Micah and I got ice cream, didn’t we, kiddo?” She directs this question at her nephew who grins widely, chocolate ice cream smothered all round his mouth and dripping down the cone onto his fingers. She notices our solemn expressions. “Oh, things didn’t go well then?”
Cece slumps back in her seat and shakes her head, clearly still not wanting to talk about it, so I answer Connie. “No, I’m afraid not. Get in, I’ll take you and Micah home.”
When we return to the DeMarco residence, after I’ve outlined what Dante said as best I could with little ears listening, Connie says she’ll take Micah inside, understanding that Cecelia and I need time to talk. As Micah exits the car, he turns back towards us.
“Papa, are you coming inside too? We can play superheroes.”
It’s only been a few days but the fact that he already calls me papa so easily and naturally already melts my heart.
“As much as I would love that, buddy, I just need to talk to Mommy for a few minutes, is that okay?”
He looks disappointed and nods solemnly, then follows Connie along the front path, swinging his lunch box. I turn to Cece and place a hand on her arm gently, asking her to face me. She twists her body slightly but doesn’t look directly at me. I see that her eyes are shining and she’s struggling to contain her emotions.
“Cece, talk to me, please. I understand how upset you must feel, but don’t shut me out. I will make things right with your father, you have my word.”
She shakes her head and remains silent. I bang the edge of the steering wheel with my palm in frustration. She doesn’t believe me! Why must we have to face so many trials and tribulations before we can be happy?
“Cecelia…” I begin again, trying to keep the edge from my voice. “For Micah’s sake—”
She finally speaks, interrupting me.
“Who’s Anthony Ricci?” she asks quietly, her fingers working the hem of her skirt, which I have come to realize she does when she feels worried.
